Heart and Mind
by Tiggy the Hopeless Romantic
Summary: My heart and my mind can't quite reach an agreement on my feelings for him, or more importantly on his feelings for me.


"I love you," The words spill out from my lips, coming up from my heart, completely bypassing my brain. My heart has been doing that frequently lately, teaming up with my hormones, my secret desires and making me do and say things without conferring with my mind first. I have never been a particularly affectionate person, but it's difficult not to be affectionate when you are lying beneath a man, and his body and your body are twisted together in a mesmerizing way that makes it impossible to tell quite where you end and he begins. My brain doesn't mind it horribly when my heart takes over, as long as it leads to situations like this.

It was not the first time I'd said it to him, those three little words. He'd never returned it, but I didn't focus on that. For one thing, I rarely gave him the opportunity to. Many times, like now, my mouth would crash against his, denying him the ability to speak. Other times I would quickly cut him off by saying something else afterward. 'I love you, but you need to leave," or "I love you, but you can't come back tonight, try tomorrow."

For another thing, I _almost _don't want him to love me. Letting me love him, being my friend, prooving worthy of my trust. That's more than enough. But to have another creature actually love me? No, no. I'm not good enough for that- the second someone loves me, they will get hurt. So if he does love me, I don't want to know it. I don't want to know that he is truly hurting when we are separated. We will be separated, of course. That much is obvious.

Fiyero is a creature of habit, one of obedience. He does everything he is supposed to do, rarely questioning it. He married Sarima as a child because he was told to. He attended Shiz because it was in his tribe's best interest. He returned home and fathered children because he was expected to. Being with me- cheating on his wife, temporarily leaving his tribe to it's own devices, his children to most likely spend a winter without their father- being with me might be the first time he has done something he was not supposed to do. This is probably the first thing he has done for himself.

Yet he is still managing to do what is expected of him. Now, instead of the prince, husband, and father, he is playing the lover. He brings me things, small gifts. Flowers, scarves, candies. He is gentle with me when I need him to be, rougher when I need that instead. When it began he would come every few days, but now he comes everyday unless I specifically tell him not to. He comes everyday because he knows I love him and would miss him otherwise.

My brain is aware of the fact that the reason he keeps coming to me could be because he actually loves me too, because he wants to be with me. My heart tells my brain to shut up. My heart doesn't want to be broken and finds it much easier to simply enjoy his affections and not try to process that it's possible his heart feels the same way about me. My heart is afraid that if he says he loves me to, he is only saying it because he thinks he is supposed to.

My brain wants answers, wants to know my truth. My heart would prefer to remain blissfully ignorant, not cut in two. This is one of the few times when I am confident that following my heart is a much better choice than letting my mind work things out.

We both finish, him a few seconds after me. The sweat on my skin becomes more apparent, it stings but is not quite painful. My chest heaves, trying to get enough oxygen out to my tired body. He presses a light kiss to my temple and I feel him pull out of me, rolling over so he won't smother me or crush me. His hand brushes my hair out of my face and then his arm slips around my middle, pulling me close to him. He is happy and asleep within seconds. I smile at his sleeping form.

My heart doesn't mind that he might not love me; he respects me, and is at least fond of me. He treats me like a person, like a woman. That is something most people can't claim to do. Even if he doesn't love me, I don't feel used, like a whore.

But still, as I drift off to sleep in his arms, my heart and mind share a thought that could only come when I was in the fairyland between sleep and waking. _It would be so nice if he loves me..._


End file.
